


Pulled Apart at the Seams

by battybatzgirl



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Demonic Possession, M/M, Possessive Behavior, What-If, billford if you squint, implied stancest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battybatzgirl/pseuds/battybatzgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford blinks, then another smile—wider and more dangerous than anything Stan has ever seen Ford wear—spreads across his face.  “How rude!  I haven’t introduced myself.  Name’s Bill.  Your brother is indisposed.  Trapped in the Mindscape for a bit, don’t worry.  I just HAD to meet you, Stanley.”</p><p>Aka, what would have happened if Bill had possessed Ford when Stan showed up in Gravity Falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Because in my head, Bill would want to meet Stan, and screw with their relationship. The ideal song for this is Colors by Halsey. The titles come from there. 
> 
>  
> 
> This picks up during AToTS, just after Ford tells Stan to leave and they start fighting. It should just be seen as a little extra snippet, still holding on to the context of what happens in that episode.

Fighting was something that came naturally to Stan.  His time spent in the dark underbelly of the Mexican drug ring had toughened him up when it came to fighting to survive, but nothing was as natural than fighting with his brother.

Stan knows Ford, knows how his body moves and reacts to a punch.  Even if it has been ten years since they’d seen each other and are on an opposite side of the country, Stan still knows Ford like back of his hand.

Stan socks Ford in the stomach, and Ford doubles back, falling to his knees on the hard basement floor.  Stan keeps advancing, but something shifts in Ford’s expression.  He looks over his shoulder, toward the massive glowing metal structure—the portal, Ford had mentioned—and his eyes are suddenly frantic and full of fear.

“Wait, Stan, don’t, he’s trying to—if you knock me out, he’ll—!”

But Stan doesn’t listen, can’t hear anything past the rage in his ears, and he lands a blow to the underside of Ford’s jaw.  Ford’s head snaps back, but as his body is falling backward, it stops, as if some kind of invisible force has caught him.  Then his body lurches back upright, the movement so unexpected Stan jerks back. 

Ford blinks at him, his face blank for a second before a wide grin blooms on his face.  And something is…different.  Ford’s eyes seem larger, and they—they’re glowing?

“So _you’re_ Stanley,” Ford says, only…it wasn’t Ford’s voice that comes out his mouth.  It was higher, and had an echo, reflecting off the walls of the lab back to Stan’s ears.  Stan takes a step back, and Ford stands.  But the way he moves, it’s…unnatural.  Ford couldn’t lift himself up like that.  No human could move like that.

“You’re less impressive than I thought,” the voice says again, the voice that wasn’t Ford’s but was somehow coming out of his mouth.  Ford tilted his head, staring openly at Stanley as if he had never seen him before.  Stan took another step back.  Something about his eyes—they were bright yellow, not Ford’s warm brown.

Ford takes a step forward, then looks down at himself.  Pulling on a knot under his shirt, Ford rips a tiny bronze necklace off of himself.  Tossing it aside, he scoffs, “Sigils?  Really Stanford?  As if some stupid _drawing_ is going to keep me out of you.  Nice try though, it’s cute that you’re still trying.”

Ford—no, not Ford, something _inside_ Ford—turns his attention back to Stan.  And his expression—he looks as if he wants to open Stan up and eat him. 

Somehow, Stan’s mind clicks back on.  “Ford?  What—what is this?”

Ford blinks, then another smile—wider and more dangerous than anything Stan has ever seen Ford wear—spreads across his face.  “How rude!  I haven’t introduced myself.  Name’s Bill.  Your brother is indisposed.  Trapped in the Mindscape for a bit, don’t worry.  I just _had_ to meet you, Stanley.”

“Trapped?” Stan repeats, frowning, and Ford—Bill—began striding toward him, walking with much more grace than Ford has ever had.  It was like he was floating.  “What d’you mean, trapped?”

“Trapped, restrained,” Bill says, waving a six-fingered hand as if to brush away the thought.  “Words are a jumbled mess in the human language.  Honestly, you’d think after a few centuries you’d finally learn how to communicate correctly.”  At this, Bill rolls his eyes, the slit pupils reaching skyward, an expression so familiar on Ford’s face but it looked _wrong_.

“Who are you?” Stan shouts, grabbing Ford by the coat lapels, raising one of his fists and leveling it next to Ford’s face.  “Get out of my brother!”

Bill’s expression turns maniac.  “Oh— _oh_ , this is hilarious!”

The next thing Stan knows, he is being slammed into the stone wall of the lab.  Pain explodes behind his eyes, and even though Ford is the same height as Stan, somehow he looms over him, like there is something bigger attached to him.  He is still wearing Bill’s crazed smile.

“Ford told me you were a fighter!  Guess he wasn’t wrong.”  Bill laughs, delighted.

“How do you know him?” Stan demands, wincing as the throb in his head seems to double when he stares directly into Bill’s eyes.

“Oh, your brother gave himself over to me a few years ago,” Bill shrugs as if he is talking about the weather.  “It’s been one hell of a ride, hasn’t it, Sixer?”  He throws the last comment over his shoulder, like Ford is there, but Stan sees nothing but empty air. 

Stan feels a growl build up in his throat at the use of the nickname.  “You don’t get to call him that.”

Bill snorts, and Stan swings a fist.  It collides with Ford’s cheek, and Stan hears a sickening crack; the next moment Ford is laughing, spitting out blood from his mouth. 

“Why don’t you ever touch me like this, Fordsy?” Bill asks between laughs, again speaking as if Ford was right next to him.  “You could learn a thing or two from him.  Actually, I think I’m starting to like him more.”

What Bill does next is impossible—it has to be, right?  But Ford’s hand actually catches _on fire_ , and he doesn’t look to be in any kind of pain.  Bill snaps his fingers, and suddenly Stan is being pressed against the wall hard, some force holding him still.  His eyes water at the pressure.  His lungs feel like they’re being forced tight against the back of his ribs, his breath coming in through short gasps.

Stan hisses out, “What the hell?!”

Ford’s face takes on the expression Stan recognizes as curiosity, mixed with dark hunger.  “Only five appendages,” says the voice out of Ford’s mouth.  “Huh, is it you or him that’s the freak?  I can’t tell.”  Bill grins at his own joke, and Stan wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t because of the pressure at his temples.

Then, Bill scoffs; it was as if something was pulling at his attention just over his shoulder.  He lifts one hand and begins tapping against Stan’s temple.

“What makes you so special?” Bill asks Stan, clearly expecting an answer.  “You don’t have dreams, aspirations.  Well, besides the ones your darling brother here crushed.”

Stan feels his heart constrict in his chest, and he tries to jerk his head away from Bill’s touch but it’s fruitless.  Bill snickers.  “Ooh, touched a nerve, didn’t I?”

And Stan doesn’t want to think about that.  Because everything Stan is, everything he _used_ to be, had been based around Ford.  It was pathetic and stupid, and he was so weak for depending so much on his brother.  He hated himself for it still.  But what the hell did this Bill guy know about their past, anyway?

Abruptly Bill turns around, facing away from Stan and he laughs.  “Oh, so _now_ you want to make a deal?” Bill mocks the empty air.  Ford’s shoulders shake with barely concealed amusement.  Then, his voice becomes deeper, echoing across the metal walls of the lab.  Stan shivers despite himself; the words seem to go straight into his very bones, weaving into his core. 

“You already made a deal, Stanford Pines,” Bill says, and is Ford _there_?  Stan can’t see him, he _isn’t there_ , this guy is insane— “Someone needs to remind you what happens when you try to double cross a demon.”

Ford stays turned away from him for a moment, then turns back to Stan with a shrug.  “Typical,” he says nonchalantly.  “So needy. What a drama queen, am I right?”

“I don’t—“  Stan shakes his head.  He can barely move against the force holding him against the metal, and whenever he tries, it seems to press him harder.  “You’re crazy!”

Bill snickers.  “See, you’re smart!” he praises, but it sounds sarcastic.  “It’s probably a side effect of dealing with your brother over there.  Now his mind is a jumble, let me tell you.”

Then six fingers are on the side of his face, pressing deep and it singes Stan’s skin.  Stan grunts in pain and tries to shift away the best he can, but Bill is undeterred.  “Do you have any idea how _annoying_ listening to your name rattle around in his head is?” Bill asks.  Stan clenches his jaw and winces at the pain, not entirely sure if Bill wants him to answer.  “If he wasn’t bound to me, I’d pick his mind and get rid of all the useless human emotions.  Well.”  Bill pauses, removing his fingers from Stan, a thoughtful expression on his face.  “I _could_ do that anyway.  Isn’t like he’s not ruined already.  But, you two are so messed up, it’s hilarious to watch.”

“Bound to you?” Stan repeats, confusion taking priority over the pain.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Ol’ Fordsy is a real piece of work,” Bill replies as if that explains everything.  Then, he smiles so widely Ford’s face almost cracks in half. “But I don’t care about _him_.  I wanna know about you!” 

Bill snaps his fingers and blue wisps of smoke rise out of Stan’s temples.  The smoke swirls and begins showing shadowy images in the small space between Stan and Bill.  They’re reflections of Stan; the first night he spent in his car, getting beat up by Rico and his goons, getting thrown in jail for the third time.  Stan wants to look away, remembering how hopeless and dejected he felt with each memory, but he can’t.  He’s forced to rewatch the worst moments of his life in front of the _thing_ that is possessing his brother.

On the other hand, Bill looks ecstatic.  “Hey, you can take a lot more than he can! That’s good!  He wouldda died the first time he went into the forest if I wasn’t there.  He always ends up making those funny little noises,” Bill shrugs, then smirks, “but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

The images of Stan fizzle away and morph into something different—of him and Ford as teenagers, dancing with each other behind the bleachers on their prom night.

“Stop it!” Stan snaps, wanting more than anything to not be reminded of this memory. But he can’t.  He sees Ford twirl him around and kiss him, pulling back like he had been burned a second later while Stan looks on stupidly.

Because he remembers that night.  Ford had helped Stan learn how to dance so he could woo Carla, but Stan lost interest when Ford had gotten doused in punch.  They snuck together back out to the bleachers, dancing together like they had hours before in their room.  Stan had been taken completely by surprise when Ford had kissed him; he can still remember how Ford had shook while he babbled out hasty apologies and didn’t shut up until Stan backed him up against the car and kissed him back.

It was a sweet memory, the kind Stan went to when he was trying to fall asleep sometimes.  If he thought hard enough, he could still feel the soft puff of Ford’s breath, feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace.  But now it made Stan’s face burn, being forced to relive one of the closest memories he holds dear in front of a-a…

And Stan realizes he doesn’t know _what_ Bill is.  Part of him doesn’t want to know, but _all_ of him wants to punch Bill in the face.

“I know lots of things about you, Stanley,” Bill purrs, and the vision disappears, but Ford’s face is still there.  Bill’s eyes are catlike, sly and glowing. 

“You don’t know shit,” Stan counters.

“I know how you keep a special place for your brother in that stone heart of yours.  How you want him to acknowledge and love you like the good ol’ days.  And how you want to relive that time when you two drove out to the pier and fucked each other senseless.”

“Shut up!” Stan bites out, but Bill continues on, undeterred, “I can make that happen.  I can make him swoon so fast he’d get whiplash.” 

Stan shakes his head, trying to get the image of Ford leering at him out of his brain.  Bill steps in closer, pressing Ford’s body flush up against his own.  He’s close enough that Stan can smell Ford, and it’s so familiar but _wrong_ at the same time that it’s like a punch in the gut.  Ford’s lips wrap around Stan’s earlobe, and Stan jolts.

“Or I could just do this,” Bill murmurs, his breath hot against Stan’s neck.  “Because dropping your pants for your brother is your good for, isn’t it?”

Stan feels a six-fingered hand palm over his crotch and he gasps.  Bill pulls away, laughing.  Stan flushes again, but growls at the thought of giving in so easily.  This thing might have control over Ford, but Stan would put up more of a fight before he went down.  He spits in Bill’s face.

Bill stops laughing, his face going blank for a beat.  Then Stan’s head is slammed back, Bill’s hand wrapping tight around his throat.  Bill’s grin returns, only now it is dark and predatory. 

“Oooh, I am going to have _so_ much fun with yo—“

Out of nowhere, a pipe breaks free from the ceiling and slams into the side of Ford’s face.  Stan gasps for air, sliding halfway down the wall.  He glances up and his heart stops for a second.  Bill’s— _Ford’s_ —whole body is engulfed in flames, towering above his body like a tornado. 

“ _You little leech_!” Bill howls, his voice higher, more manic.  The sound hurts Stan’s ears even though he quickly covers them with his hands. “You stupid, arrogant bag of flesh!”

Parts of Ford’s clothes are singeing away now, Bill’s eyes burning as bright as the fire that surrounds him.  He’s still screaming at something Stan can’t see.  It’s so loud—the walls and floors are shaking.  Pieces of equipment from the lab rattle and break. 

“I will wipe the multiverse of your molecules, I’ll rip your soul apart and devour every last scrap of it—“

The fire flume is getting bigger, rising as Bill’s voice grows shriller, and Stan doesn’t understand much about what is going on but he knows he needs to shut this down _now_.  He pushes himself off the wall and runs into the tempest.

“—I own you IQ, _I am your god_!”

“HEY!” Stan shouts over the wind.  Ford whirls around.  Bill’s fury turns to confusion then shock as Stan launches himself at his brother’s body, aiming a left hook just under his chin.  Ford’s head snaps back, and a ripple goes through the air. 

Everything drops.  The wind is silenced immediately.  The fire is extinguished in an instant, vanishing as if it were never there.  The tips of Ford’s hair and jacket are still burning, but Stan doesn’t stop to try to put him out.  He is still punching, throwing fists like it’s the only thing he can do.  (Because really, it is.)

“Ow, _ow_! S-Stan-Stanley, stop it!” Ford’s voice says, but Stan doesn’t stop, looming over his brother on the ground.  Ford raises his hands and Stan half expects to get thrown at the wall again, but it never happens.  “Stan, Stan, it’s me!  He’s gone!”

Stan grabs a fistful of Ford’s hair, yanking his head back and leveling his fist for his next blow.  “How do I know, huh?” Stan counters.  “What if you’re just sayin’ that?”

“Look at me,” Ford says, exasperated, dropping his hands.  And Stan looks at his brother, illuminated by the soft light of the portal. 

Ford looks…tired.  No, more than tired.  He looks like he should be physically incapable of functioning.  The rings under his eyes are like bruises.  His face is the color of ash, and there are welts forming already from where Stan’s punches have successfully landed.  And his eyes…they’re flat, with no trace of emotion or that spark Stan remembers Ford always having.

“Do I look like a demon?” Ford asks, his voice hallow.    

No, Ford didn’t look like a demon.  Ford looked like he should be dead.

Instead of replying, Stan untangles himself from his brother and stands, noticing how Ford winces as he moves.  Stan automatically reaches out a hand to help Ford up, but his brother ignores it, hissing quietly though his teeth as he slowly rises on unsteady feet. 

“I should have known better,” Ford says in a way of explanation.  “I can’t lose consciousness again, can’t let him back—“  Quick as lightning, Ford’s head snaps to the side, staring at the portal, going completely still.  The hairs on the back of Stan’s neck rise, and he knows _something_ is happening but he still can’t fucking _see_.

“Ford?” Stan tries.

“Go,” Ford snaps out of it, turning and shoving at Stan’s chest.  “You have to go.  Right now.  I need you to take my journal and get as far away from me as possible.”

And Stan blinks, staring stupidly back at his brother.  Ford has that crazed look on his face again, the fear and anxiety and panic, and he keeps pushing at Stanley, as if he is trying to finally shove him out of his life for good.

“If you think I’m leaving without you explainin’ what the hell just happened, you’ve got another thing comin’,” Stan deadpans, standing his ground despite Ford’s efforts. 

“There are multiple things ‘coming for me,’ Stanley,” Ford replies, rolling his eyes at Stan’s phrasing.  “That’s why you need to _go_!”

“So that guy—Bill, he’s after ya?” Stan guesses, and Ford shakes his head. 

“You don’t understand,” Ford groans, clearly frustrated now.  He tugs at his hair and starts pacing, two nervous ticks Stan recognizes with a heartfelt twinge.  “I knew this was a bad idea, you shouldn’t have come.”

The twinge turns into a stabbing, making Stan clench his jaw and ball his fists at his side.  “So let me get this straight,” he snarls, advancing on his brother.  “When you finally reach out to me, finally make some kind of contact after all these years, you just wanna send me away again?”  They both glare at each other, and the energy between them is like a lightning storm, electric and dangerous.  Stan takes a deep breath, his voice softer as he says, “Ford, you’re not actin’ right.  Bill said—“

“I’m fine!” Ford snaps, looking the complete opposite.  “You can’t trust anything Bill says, he’s a liar and I—he—I thought—“

Ford tapers off, shaking his head like he can’t grasp the thoughts in his head to form words.  And as Ford babbles out half sentences of things Stan doesn’t understand, the portal hums ominously behind them, watching and waiting.


	2. Grey

It wasn’t that Ford was out of the practice of fighting necessarily.  He knew how to subdue and capture the supernatural beasts in Gravity Falls, he knew how to run and dodge and not get eaten. No, the problem was that he had forgotten how to fight with his _brother_. 

Stanley had always been faster than Ford when it came to throwing punches.  After spending ten years apart, the memory of how to fight him had faded into the back of Ford’s mind and gathered dust, buried away with all the other seemingly useless information.

Apparently it wasn’t as useless as Ford thought, especially in his current situation.  Out of all the outcomes of the meeting Ford had planned, he didn’t expect his brother to start wailing on him like they were kids.  Stan nails him in the stomach, causing Ford’s breath to whoosh out of him.  He collapses onto his knees on the ground.

As he gasps in a breath, he almost doesn’t hear it.  But then, he does—the faint whisper of voices, teasing and taunting at his ears, breathing cool air on the back of his neck and making every one of his nerves go on edge.  Whirling around to the portal, Ford can see how the light pulses, a clear indication of how the creatures behind want to break free.

 And he can _feel_ Bill on the edges of his mind, waiting for the opportunity to jump.  It makes Ford’s heartbeat increase, sending out waves of fear though his whole body.

Stanley is still advancing on him, looking like he wants blood.  Ford tries not to panic as he says, “Wait, Stan, don’t, he’s trying to—if you knock me out, he’ll—!“

Of course his brother doesn’t listen, and lands an uppercut under Ford’s jaw.  Ford gets knocked back, then feels a pair of hands on his shoulders rip his soul away from his body into the Mindscape as he loses consciousness.

“No, no!” Ford struggles wildly, but is ultimately helpless as he is thrown into the grayscale world, watching as his body stops in the air mid-fall and jerks back up.

“So _you’re_ Stanley,” says Bill.  Ford recognizes the way he smiles at Stan, and it was bad to say the least.  “You’re less impressive than I thought.” 

Bill tilted his head and stepped forward, but then grunted softly.  Tearing underneath his shirt, Bill snapped off the necklace of the bronze sigils and tosses it aside.  “Sigils?” Bill snorts.  “Really Stanford?  As if some stupid _drawing_ is going to keep me out of you.  Nice try, though,” Bill shoots a wink in his direction, so fast Ford isn’t sure if he imagined it or not.  “It’s cute that you’re still trying.”

Ford feels himself flush in either embarrassment or frustration—he isn’t exactly sure which.  He opens his mouth to shoot something back at Bill, but before he can, Stan speaks up.

“Ford?” Stan asks, his brow furrowing.  “What—what is this?”

Bill blinks as if he had forgotten Stanley was there, then smiles wider than before.  “How rude!  I haven’t introduced myself.  Name’s Bill.  Your brother is indisposed.  Trapped in the Mindscape for a bit, don’t worry.  I just _had_ to meet you, Stanley.”

And it’s _then_ that Ford realizes the full danger of the situation.  Bill was in the physical dimension with his brother.  Anything could happen to Stan, and Ford could only watch helplessly from the sidelines.  Dread seeps into Ford’s bones.  Because he couldn’t let Bill hurt Stanley.  He just couldn’t.

“Trapped?” repeats Stan.  Bill starts moving toward him, and panic shoots down Ford’s spine.  “What d’you mean, trapped?”

“Trapped, restrained,” Bill says, waving his hand in the air.  “Words are a jumbled mess in the human language.  Honestly, you’d think after a few centuries you’d finally learn how to communicate correctly.”

Bill rolls his eyes, and Ford darts forward, trying to get between Bill and Stan.  “Bill!” he tries, but the demon ignores him and walks straight though him. 

“Who are you?” Stanley shouts, grabbing Bill by Ford’s coat and raising a fist in preparation to punch.  “Get out of my brother!”

“Oh— _oh_ , this is hilarious!” Bill chuckles, delighted, and Ford’s stomach drops.  The demon slams Stan back into the wall of the lab and Ford lets out a cry of desperation.  “Ford told me you were a fighter!  Guess he wasn’t wrong.”

Bill laughs again, and Ford tries in vain to pull Bill off of Stan, but his hands pass helplessly though his body.  “Get away from him!”

“How do you know him?” Stanley asks angrily.

“Oh, your brother gave himself over to me a few years ago,” Bill says, shrugging.  “It’s been one hell of a ride, hasn’t it, Sixer?” Bill turns and says the comment directly to Ford, grinning wickedly at his powerless state.

“You don’t get to call him that,” Stan growls, throwing a fist out and nailing Bill in the cheek. Ford winces as he hears the crack of bone, but it only makes Bill laugh harder, spitting blood out of his mouth.

“Why don’t you ever touch me like this, Fordsy?” Bill says snidely.  “You could learn a thing or two from him.  Actually, I think I’m starting to like him more.”

Before Ford can respond, Bill’s hand glows with blue fire and he snaps his fingers, and Stan is now being held back against the wall by Bill’s power, his toes barely touching the ground.

“No, don’t!” Ford cries, holding his hands up as if that could somehow stop Bill.  “Don’t hurt him!”

Bill ignores him again and begins examining Stanley as if he were under a stethoscope.  “Only five appendages.  Huh, is it you or him that’s the freak?  I can’t tell.”

“Bill!” Ford stresses, trying anything to get the demon’s attention off of his brother.  “Leave him alone! It’s me you want, not Stan.  Don’t touch him!”

At this, Bill snorts; the only sign he is actually listening to Ford.  He trails one hand up and begins tapping idly against his brother’s temple.

“What makes you so special?” Bill directs at Stan.  “You don’t have dreams, aspirations.  Well, besides the ones your darling brother here crushed.”

Stanley makes a sort of choked noise, and Ford feels his heart thump painfully in his chest.  Bill snickers, noticing the obvious tension.

“Ooh, touched a nerve, didn’t I?”

“Bill, stop this!” Ford tries again, and he hates how his voice wavers.  He doesn’t want to think of how he might of hurt Stanley if he’s trying to prevent it from happening again, because that would be counteractive.  He couldn’t start letting his emotions get in the way, not now.  And yet… 

“F-fine!” Ford relents, hating himself instantly but knowing what he has to do to save Stan.  “I…I’ll get my calculations.  I’ll…I’ll do what you want.  Just leave Stanley out of this!”

Bill actually turns around to him, still holding Stanley prone, and laughs.  “Oh, so now you want to make a deal?”  His voice is cruel and mocking, but it quickly shifts to an unearthly tone that makes Ford’s skin prickle, even in the Mindscape.  “You already made a deal, Stanford Pines.  Someone needs to remind you what happens when you try to double cross a demon.”

For a beat, Ford is completely frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe or think.  A second later, his brain catches up with him. 

Ford had purposely tried to leave Stanley out of this as much as he could.  He couldn’t live with himself if Stanley got hurt, which was why he tried being distant, why he wanted to pass his journal on to him and send him far away.  Ford thought Bill never would have guessed to go after Stanley if they still hated each other. But Bill was playing on old emotions, bringing up pain and reopening wounds that haven’t quite scarred over. 

Ford nearly screams in frustration because _of course_ Bill would have foreseen this, Ford was so ignorant, _of course_ the demon would have thought of all the possible outcomes.  It becomes obvious that there is nothing Ford can say to stop Bill.  The demon has turned back to Stanley, taunting him, but Ford doesn’t allow himself to get caught up in what Bill is saying.  He needs to find a way to get Stan out of this. 

Weaving his fingers through his hair and tugging hard, Ford tries to spur his brain into action.  There had to be _something_ , some way to interact with the physical from the Mindscape.  But Ford’s mind is too scattered, he can’t focus and think of Bill having Stan at his disposal.   

Making an aggravated noise, Ford darts up through the ceiling to his study.  Amidst the chaos of scattered books, loose papers, and shattered crystal pyramids, there had to be a loophole to interact with the physical.  Bill had done it once or twice, moving or shifting an object whenever Stanford was working too hard to be possessed. 

Ford hated himself for being so arrogant, not thinking about the consequences of making a deal with a supernatural being.  And now Stan was going to suffer for it.

No, no.  This was all _wrong_.  The portal should have never been built exactly to Bill’s calculations, Stanley should have never come, Ford should have thought of a better way to hide the journals.

Ford’s thought process came to a screeching halt.  The portal had to be built to Bill’s exact measurements.  Fiddleford had to use steel and other various metals found in the spaceship because Bill couldn’t touch iron. 

In his research, only fairies and nymphs had been effected by iron, a fact Ford had discovered directly.  Ford didn’t actually know if the same applied to demons, but he did know Bill nearly decked Fiddleford the first time he tried building the prototype of the portal using iron.  He had never specifically given a reason as to why he didn’t want his device containing that kind of metal, but Ford could only hope (and pray) it was for the same reason.

Now with renewed purpose, Ford hovers between the floor of the study and the roof of the lab.  The lab has piping running through the ceiling; Ford is positive at least one of them has to be made out of iron.  Quickly, the scientist finds one that looks like it could be it.  To test his theory, he reaches out and brushes his fingers against the metal, but instantly pulls away, hissing. 

Bill’s power had been leaking into him for a while—it was a simple side effect of being possessed almost daily by a magical being.  Feeling Bill’s magic under his skin used to give Ford a sort of giddy high, but now it was more of a dangerous burden.  He and Bill had been close, and it had inevitably proved to be Ford’s downfall.  Now, it would be Bill’s.

Without thinking twice, Ford launches himself through the floor, hitting the pipe directly.  The residual magic Bill had left allowed for Ford to knock the pipe loose, and it slammed into the side of his own, currently possessed face.

Ford came just in time, it seems.  Bill is shoved away from Stan from the force of the impact, but he recovers in an instant.  Ford watches as Bill’s fury erupts, his body catching on fire and his eyes blazing red.

“ _You little leech!_ ” Bill shrieks, all of his attention back on Ford.  Quickly, he moves away from Stanley and the wall, drawing the demon away from his brother.  “You stupid, arrogant bag of flesh!”

Bill’s voice is shaking the room, his anger causing a tornado of fire.  Ford stood his ground against the demon, though he could feel the Mindscape warp and twist around him, like it was trying to destroy his very soul.

“You won’t win, Bill!” Ford shouts over the chaos of glass and lab equipment shattering.  “I won’t let you!”

“I will wipe the multiverse with your molecules!” Bill counters, his voice echoing, the fire rising higher and reaching out to grab Ford like a pair of deadly fiery fingers.  “I’ll rip your soul apart and devour every last scrap of it!”

And even though he is in the Mindscape, Ford can _feel_ Bill’s fury, knowing full well he has just invoked the power of a devil.  He tries not to show how he is trembling.

It takes everything Ford has to keep dodging the flume of flames reaching toward him.  Bill keeps howling, “You are _nothing_ without me!  I made you what you are! I own you IQ, _I am your god_!”

“HEY!”

And Ford had completely forgotten about Stan, but he couldn’t be more grateful for the recklessness of his brother as he jumps at Bill, socking the demon in the jaw.  Bill, caught by surprise, flails and gets knocked out of Ford’s body into the gray dimension.  Ford acts fast, diving back into his body before Bill can regain any sort of power.

But it’s not over, because now Stanley is on top of him, relentlessly throwing punch after punch.  The feeling of pain is a harsh contrast to the weightlessness of the Minscape, and for a moment Ford is struck dumb by the pain. 

“Ow, _ow_!  S-Stan-Stanley, stop it!” Ford tries, throwing up his hands in defense.  If anything, Stan starts hitting him harder.  “Stan, Stan, it’s me!” Ford cries desperately.  “He’s gone!”

Instead of punching him again, Stan yanks his head back by his hair, holding Ford prone while looming dangerously over him. “How do I know, huh?  What if you’re just sayin’ that?”

Ford is almost proud for Stan for being hesitant to accept that it’s him rather than Bill.  Under different circumstances, Ford might have offered to try to explain the differences between him and Bill, but he was just so frustrated and drained.  He drops his hands and simply stresses, “Look at me.”

Stanley doesn’t move right away.  He takes his time looking Ford over, which gives Ford a moment to catch his breath and evaluate the damages.  Stan didn’t look to be injured, which was good.  He appeared more confused than anything. 

There was very little chance of Stan being safe after this.  Now that Bill knew he could use Stanley as a tool to get to Ford, the only way to keep Stan away from trouble would to keep him as far away from Ford as possible.

“Do I look like a demon?” Ford asks.  A laugh bubbles up in his chest from his own dark humor, but he swallows it back down.  It would sound more hysterical than anything. 

Stan doesn’t answer, and his expression is so open and concerned, it makes Ford’s chest ache.  Along with all the other injuries he has obtained, of course.  Stan gets up, and as he moves Ford realizes how his whole body seems to throb. 

Discomfort had always been an after effect of possession.  At first, Bill had left enough magic behind in Ford to take away the pain, but now, the ache of having something else inside his body is multiplied by the demon’s testy attitude.  Ford winces as he stands, ignoring the hand Stan offers him.  He can’t show any kind of weakness, emotional or physical.  He could handle this.  He _had_ to handle this.  He couldn’t let Stan go poking into the mess Ford created.

“I should have known better,” Ford mutters.  And really, he should.  Of _course_ Bill would know about any kind of alternative path Ford would try, he was an all-powerful demon of the mind, a breath away from being a god.  “I can’t lose consciousness again, can’t let him back—“

A cool breeze ghosts across the back of Ford’s neck, and he stands as straight as a rod.  The portal seems to pulse behind him, blue energy reaching out to touch and pull him under.

 _You’ll slip up_ , the lingering voice whispers to him in the back of his head.  _You’ll slip and when you do, he’ll be there_.

“Ford?” Stanley asks, his voice a ringing reminder that he was still here and needed Ford to protect him from what he didn’t understand.

Ford inhales sharply, then lets out a slow breath.  He was in control.  Not Bill.  He could _handle_ this.  For Stan’s sake, at least.  Turning to Stan, he says, “Go,” and punctuates it with a push to his brother’s chest.  “You have to go.  Right now.  I need you to take my journal and get as far away from me as possible.”

Stan looks at him blankly, and he looks so lost but Ford can’t risk him falling into Bill’s hands, not again.  Ford wants nothing more than to curl around his brother and explain everything and _sleep_ , but he knows what he has to do.

Stanley proves just as stubborn as Ford remembered.  “If you think I’m leaving without you explainin’ what the hell just happened, you’ve got another thing comin’,” Stan informs him, crossing his arms and blocking any more of Ford’s attempts to move him. 

“There are multiple things ‘coming for me,’ Stanley,” Ford says, rolling his eyes.  “That’s why you need to go!”

“So that guy—Bill, he’s after ya?” Stan tries, a wrinkle between his eyebrows as he tries to make sense of the mess Ford has made.

But it is so much bigger than Bill just being after him.  It was Bill wanting to kill him, Bill destroying him, then the world, tearing apart the universe and ending life as they knew it.  How could he explain that to Stanley?  Where would he even begin? 

“You don’t understand,” Ford sighs, groaning.  His hands rake though his hair and he pulls.  Ford’s thoughts begin to run a mile a minute, and he has to pace in order to keep up.  He didn’t mean for any of this to happen, didn’t want Stan dragged into this.  It was just supposed to be a hand off, just give him the journal and leave, they weren’t supposed to linger, Bill wasn’t supposed to consider Stan a threat but now that he did, who knows what the hell would happen.

“I knew this was a bad idea, you shouldn’t have come,” Ford mutters, shaking his head.  He had made everything so much worse.  Because it was biologically impossible for him to stay awake forever, at some point Bill was going to get back in his head and whatever happened then would be entirely his fault—

“So let me get this straight,” Stan snarls, breaking Ford’s train of thought as he pressed in close into his brother’s personal space.  “When you finally reach out to me, finally make some kind of contact after all these years, you just wanna send me away again?”

And oh, Ford wants to shout at Stan, wants him to _understand_ …but he can’t, not if he wanted to keep Stanley sane and _living_.

Stan’s expression shifts into something softer as he says, “Ford, you’re not actin’ right.  Bill said—“

“I’m fine!” Ford cries, his voice going shrill as he talks quickly.  “You can’t trust anything Bill says!  He’s a liar and I—he—I thought—“

His thoughts start to trip over themselves, and he stutters out, suddenly unable to speak words.  But the portal’s humming is still there, ringing loudly in his ears, like a warning and promise wrapped in one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done! Just a reminder: this is just a little extra scene. The outcome of AToTS still holds true (aka: Ford still gets sucked through the portal). Thanks for everything!


End file.
